SCARRED
Mathilda’s POV
Everything after that happens in a blur. One moment, I’m in the ambulance, trying to steady my trembling body, and the next, I’m back at the scene, surrounded by chaos and noise. People are being wheeled out from the basement beneath my cell, their bodies on stretchers, some screaming, some silent, all in various states of shock. The rescue team moves quickly, trying to triage the most severe cases first, but all I feel is the slow-motion horror of watching it all unfold
Passing by me, a girl, no older than fourteen, is strapped onto a stretcher. Her small face is pale and streaked with tears, but she manages to whisper a trembling, almost inaudible, “Thank you,” as they rush her past me. I can’t even begin to imagine how long she’s been locked up. I can only see
